


Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

by tygermine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: deflower_draco, Deflower Draco 2012, F/M, Humour, Office AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:04:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tygermine/pseuds/tygermine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Weasley Runs for Minister of Magic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://eevilalice.livejournal.com/profile) **eevilalice** for being super understanding about my extension. And to my awesome beta [](http://y3llowdaisi3s.livejournal.com/profile) **y3llowdaisi3s** who did this beta in record time and helped me sound board the whole thing. My very first Deflower and my very first foray into the Dramione part of fandom. Enjoy.

Chapter 1

As the ashes of Voldemort's empire blew away with the wind and his followers packed up their masks and cloaks for another time, a general sigh of relief was released throughout the wizarding world.

As if in retaliation to Voldemort's pro pureblood policies, everything Muggle became de jour.

_And who better to lead the wizarding world into a peaceful co-habitation with Muggles than Mr. Arthur Weasley, a man who fought on the frontlines of the war and has a special fondness for Muggles._

Hermione rolled her eyes as she read the proposal.

“Seriously?” she handed it back to George, who was trying unsuccessfully to hide his glee. “I think the last thing your father wants is to campaign to be the new Minister of Magic.”

“Come on Hermione, don’t you see the potential here?” George waved his hand towards the shed at the bottom of the Burrow garden where Arthur was in serious danger of losing a finger to his latest discovery from the Muggle world – a food processor.

“So you really want your dad to be the new Minister of Magic?” Hermione sipped at her tea.

“Better the devil you know, and all that,” George pointed out.

“You’re mad,” she smiled.

George just smiled indulgently.

**

Arthur took the news better than anyone expected.

“Blimey, Minister of Magic? Never considered it before. Why the heck not,” he puffed up with pride. “You’ll help, won’t you Hermione?”

She nearly choked on her roast beef. “Uh…I…” She caught the expectant looks of the collected Weasley/Potter clan. “Why not,” she sighed. After all, it wasn’t like they were going to win anyway.

**

“And the candidates for the Minister of Magic are; Winston Pillfrock, Leticia Hagglemoth, Brendon Calfield and Arthur Weasley.”

Arthur was immediately surrounded by members of the magical press. Questions were being thrown at warp speed and Arthur, bless him, was turning as red as his hair, looking like a fish caught on land. Hermione swallowed a sigh and pushed in between Arthur and the reporters.

“Obviously,” she began, speaking over the tirade of questions “Mr. Weasley is very pleased to be selected as a potential candidate for the ministry position. We will be holding a press conference in due time to answer all your questions, thank you.”

She gripped Arthur by the elbow and pulled him into an adjoining room, luckily devoid of any prying ears.

“Thank you Hermione,” he said, straightening his tie. “I’m sure I could have handled them.”

“I’m sure. Can I suggest we go back to the Burrow and celebrate, then meet up on Monday to begin planning your campaign?”

With a nod, Arthur apparated.

**

Draco Malfoy sat at his father’s desk and looked over the log books opened in front of him. How on earth did they end up with so many zeroes after the subtraction sign? How could his family be this broke?

Ok, so maybe it had something to do with his father spending all their money to fund a war he’d lost. Or with the fact that no one wanted to do business with them. Or maybe it was just a miscalculation somewhere.

With a sigh, Draco started adding and subtracting again.

**

“What. The. Hell. Are you doing here?”

Hermione had not had a good morning. London was trapped under a haze of humidity and her hair rebelled against all forms of control. She’d spilled tea on her favorite jacket. She’d run out of Floo powder and had to take a cab to the office and when she arrived, she’d been inundated with Owls from various newspapers asking if Mr. Weasley honestly thought Muggles were better than wizards. It was a stupid slip of the tongue during lunch in his office that no one should have heard.

In context, Arthur had marvelled at the Blackberry Hermione had decided to buy, and commented how Muggles compensate being non-magical by being brilliant.

Whoever leaked that was going to die.

After she got rid of Malfoy, who was currently sitting in front of her desk.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Malfoy retorted sharply.

“I work here, last I checked.”

“So do I,” he replied.

“No, you don’t.”

“Weasley hired me,”

Hermione dumped the tower of owls onto a filing cabinet and ripped open her door. “George Weasley,” she shouted across the office. “Get your arse in here.”

George sauntered in a few moments later, a smug grin on his face.

“So, you’ve met our new campaign assistant,” he said.

Hermione stood with her hands on her hips, glaring daggers at Draco, who was doing a very good job of showing nothing.

She spluttered at his announcement. “Assistant? Assistant? Have you lost your mind? It’s MALFOY!” she threw her arm in his direction.

“And if you’ll calm down, you’ll see he’s the perfect candidate.”

“Have you been in the Firewhiskey? The last thing we need is to be connected to a Malfoy! They practically funded the last war.” Hermione set her hand back on her hips.

“You over estimate my fam-“

“You keep quiet,” She snapped.

“Look, Hermione, Malfoy here is a reformed death eater. Nothing better than a reformed death eater, voters love that. Besides, he’s got the connections to bring in the whales.”

“Whales?”

“Big spenders,” George smiled.

“No more Muggle TV for you,” she admonished and went back to glaring at Draco. “I’m not happy about this.”

“I’ll put him where you won’t see him,” George promised and grabbing Draco by the arm, pulled him out of the office.

**

See, Draco ending up working for the Weasley Campaign was a bit of a lark.

Ok, not so much a lark as it was a case of George finding him drunk off his ear in the Rusty Crown just off Old Street and tricking him into working on the campaign by using – and nothing could be meaner – Draco’s inability to hold his whiskey.

It happened something like this; Draco had gone to the Rusty Crown for a drink. Not that he couldn’t drink at home, but he wanted to brood and the manor held more of a suicidal than deep brooding vibe. He got stuck into a bottle of Ogden’s and when he surfaced, George sodding Weasley was sitting opposite him in the cramped booth.

“Whu-?” Draco had slurred.

“Who better to help with a political campaign than you? Obviously you’ve been groomed your entire life.” George was saying. Draco frowned. What on earth was he going on about?

“Whu-?”

“Unless you’re not up for the job?”

“What job?” Draco licked his lips and took a sip of Firewhiskey.

“Campaign assistant to Arthur Weasley.”

Draco choked on his tongue. “Arthur Weasley is running for Minister of Magic?”

George nodded, looking very pleased with himself.

“And you want me to work on the campaign?”

“Unless you’re far too busy drinking in dodgy pubs.”

“Well…wait. Wait. Why me?” Draco asked.

“Why not?” George countered.

“Do you want a list? I can’t give references. My last uh…boss turned to ash.”

“Come Draco, prove everyone wrong. Show them you’re not some death eater scum –“

Draco opened his mouth to protest but realized the futility when George pulled out a notepad and jotted down the address of the office.

“Excellent,” said George and grabbed Draco’s hand to shake it. “Be there at 10am Monday. It’s great that you’ve decided to join the cause. This is going to be brilliant.” He continued, enthusiastically shaking Draco’s limp hand. He knocked back the rest of his bitters and left. Draco frowned at the exiting Weasley before slumping back onto the table.

**

Chapter 2

Hermione stood in front of her office and looked out over the cubicles of desks in the office. Most were occupied by volunteers and interns scribbling away at publicity owls, notices and policy ideas. However, the cubicle in the far corner was silent. A certain blonde head was leaning back in his chair, quill between his lips, ignoring the stack of notices growing in the corner. Hermione narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat.

“Malfoy!” she called across the office.

Quills fell silent, murmurs ceased and even the owls sitting along the window ledge froze in their preening. Draco looked up, bemused.

“In my office,” Hermione said and turned away, closing the door. Malfoy sauntered through the cubicles up to her office door and opened it widely, before slumping into a chair facing her.

She thrust a sheaf of papers across the desk. “We’re hosting a fundraiser. I need you to contact all the people listed here and get them to buy a table.”

Draco accepted the papers and looked up at her, eyebrow raised.

“I need the figures by tomorrow night,” Hermione said, the tone a dismissal.

Draco sighed a heavily put upon sigh, and left her office. Ha hadn’t said a word. Hermione watched him go and bit back a nasty comment. His silence puzzled her. A lifetime ago, he would have snorted, called her a Mudblood and refused the task. Something wasn’t right. She shrugged. Whatever, as long as he got the work done and didn’t undermine the campaign, she was happy. Well, not happy, just less unhappy with him.

A sharp knock on her office door caught her attention. Brian Campbell entered and took a seat across from her. Brian was a campaign consultant from the States, who had taken an interest in the new election campaign across the pond and had talked his way into a job with the Weasley’s camp. He was built like a beater, or as the Americans would say, a linebacker. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, square jaw, black hair and bright blue eyes. Hermione secretly thought he looked like Clark Kent and he made her giggly. Her crush wasn’t big, but it was certainly there.

“So, Brian, what do the polls say?” she asked, all business underneath the slight blush.

**

Draco sat at his cubicle and looked over the list Granger had given him. How the hell was he going to sell tables for a Muggle friendly Minister fundraiser when his list consisted of the remaining pureblood families? Granger had lost her mind. Or, she had a sadistic streak a mile long.

The bitch.

Had she done this to him at Hogwarts, he would have balled up the list, thrown it over his shoulder and gone back to reading _Quidditch Weekly_. But something in Draco gnawed at him. That little part of him that felt he had to prove to everyone that he wasn’t just some spoilt coward, who’d been the cause of so much devastation. He’d rather tune out the voice and concentrate on forgetting the past few years, but it was a persistent voice that sounded far too much like Granger.

Granger. Sodding, know-it-all, bossy, pain in the ass.

He growled and looked back at the list. Most of these people wouldn’t speak to him, let alone buy a table to a fundraiser from him.

Fuck it. He pulled some stationary closer and began composing the letters. Even a Malfoy can acknowledge when joining the chaos was far more productive than trying to fight it.

***

Brian and Hermione had finished talking business half an hour ago. They were currently debating American versus English classics. Hermione couldn’t recall the last time she’d had such a lively debate. Brian glanced at his wristwatch and sighed.

“I hate to say this, but I have to go. Got another meeting to get to,” he took her hand as he stood, pulling her up and around her desk. He pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Brian!” she gasped in surprise.

“Your office door is closed,” he said softly and bent down to place a chaste kiss on her lips.

Hermione kissed him back, nipping at his lower lip, enjoying the feel of being kissed after such a long time without it. His tongue slid out and massaged hers, pulling a soft groan from her. She thought she heard the distant sound of a door closing, but ignored it, concentrating instead on the kiss that was taking her breath away.

A few moments later, Hermione’s door burst open.

“Hermione, we have just come up wi...” George began choking on his tongue at the sight of Brian and Hermione in a liplock. Cho leaned closer to George and stage whispered. “Could this be why Malfoy looked like he’d been _Crucio_ ’d?”

The couple had by now jumped apart, Hermione retreating to the safety behind her desk, while Brian straightened his tie, and awkwardly smiled at Hermione before slipping out the door.

“Why, Hermione! An office romance!” George smiled and fell into Brain’s recently vacated seat. “How sweet! How romantic! How utterly naughty!”

“Shut it, George. Don’t you know how to knock?” Hermione tried to hide her blush as she shuffled papers around on her desk. Now where exactly had the proposal for the Hogwarts exchange program disappeared to?

“We did knock,” Cho felt the need to point out.

“Ok, what do you want?” Hermione sighed, ignoring George’s shit eating grin.

“I was at the store today and I figured out what we are missing for the campaign, in terms of public relations and all.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a doll.

“A doll?” Hermione frowned.

“An action figure! It’s all the Muggle rage. Once you have your own action figure, you are famous!” George smiled and turned the action fig –doll, it’s a fucking doll – towards Hermione, who gasped.

“You made a doll of your own father?”

George nodded and pressed the small button on the inside of the doll’s palm. Arthur Weasley’s voice floated up from the doll.

“Pleasure to meet you! I’m Arthur Weasley. Muggles are our peers.”

Hermione blinked. She blinked again. This was obviously a bad dream. It had to be. She could feel the hysterical giggle bubbling up her throat, threatening to destroy her carefully crafted composure.

“Out!” she pointed to the door. “Just, get out. I’m busy.”

George frowned, but silently obeyed.

As the door closed behind the two, Hermione dropped her head onto her desk and let the giggle come forth. This was just too much! Action figures, flirty consultants, too many things to keep track of, and Malfoy.

If Hermione had been a weaker person, she would have pulled out the bottle of tequila she kept in her desk drawer. But someone had to keep their heads in this madness.

She calmed down, taking deep breaths and pulled the speech she was drafting for Arthur’s luncheon with the Widows and Orphans Fund the next day. 

**

Malfoy was never leaving the sanctity of his cubicle. Ever. Again. If he’d made this rule earlier, he wouldn’t have finished the proposed letter to constituents as quickly as he had. He would never have thought to get Granger’s OK on it. He would never have opened the door and seen her snogging that slimy American in her office. His stomach would not have flipped violently, and he would not be stuck with the scene branded against the back of his eyelids.

Foregoing her ok on the fundraiser letters, he did a quick spelling check before magically duplicating them and sending them off with the owls. Now he sat in his cubicle, avoiding everyone, especially Granger.

What the hell was she thinking? No workplace should allow that kind of nonsense to happen. And since when does she go around snogging people? She was just a…ok, well, woman now. But still. When did she grow those breasts that pressed against the Yank’s chest? Where did those hips he rested his hands on come from? Where on earth did she learn to moan like that?

She was supposed to stay Granger. Bad haired, snotty, know-it-all brat, who happened to wear high heels now. Which was another thing. How does one expect do get any work done with her wearing shoes with the red sole so high that distract co-workers? It just wasn’t right. And Draco felt obliged to point this out to her. They were running a campaign, not a sodding dating agency.

A little voice pointed out that maybe Draco should stop obsessing with Granger and her shoes, and get back to work. He was here to redeem himself, not sleep with his boss.

Draco reeled at the thought. He had no intention of sleeping with her. It was Granger after all. If he was going to shag someone, it would be someone who would…well…be a bit more understanding about his…uh…situation.

But, said the voice, playing the devil’s advocate. If he slept with Granger, maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t notice that he was...inexperienced. Who would she compare him to? Weasley? Definitely not the Yank. They haven’t slept together. Have they?

Oh for goodness sake, Malfoy! Pull yourself together! You’re sitting here, obsessing about Granger’s sex life.

He looked around and noticed the office was dark and quiet. Only the light of Granger’s desk lamp escaped from under her door.

Draco stood up, gathered his belongings, and began heading towards the Floo. The sound of something falling to the floor with a thud caused Draco to pause and turn around. He heard the soft muttering of someone swearing. Unable to help himself, Draco turned and headed towards Hermione’s office. He knocked softly on her door before pushing it open.

Hermione was sitting behind her desk, bottle of tequila open next to her ink pot, a plastic water cup resting on her blotter. She looked up as Draco stepped into her office.

“What, Malfoy?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and bending down to pick up the book that had fallen to the ground. “You should have gone home hours ago.”

“I know, just had some last minute things to see to.” Draco bit his lip. The question was on the tip of his tongue and he tried, so very hard, to hold it in. “Are…are you okay, Granger?”

“Depends on how you define okay, Malfoy.” She sighed and took a sip from the glass, grimacing. “Go home,” she said, dismissing him.

He took a seat instead. “Got another cup there?”

Hermione gave him a suspicious look but _Accio’d_ a cup from the water cooler in the kitchen. She poured two fingers of tequila and pushed it towards him. As he reached for the cup, their fingers brushed briefly. Hermione pulled her hand back as if shocked. Draco pretended to ignore the tingle in his hand and took a sip. It was far from the acid he usually tasted when drinking tequila. It was oaky, dark and robust.

“So,” Draco said carefully. “Why are you sitting in the dark, drinking tequila, alone?”

She looked at him, speculation rife on her face. “Enjoying the quiet,” she said simply and sipped at her cup. She suddenly leaned forward and pinned him with an intensive look. “Why are you working here?”

“George made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” Draco said with a shrug.

Hermione blinked and burst out laughing at his reference. Draco felt the corners of his lips quirk.

“Seriously,” Hermione said, swallowing the last of the laugh. “Why are you, of all people, working here, for Arthur? I thought you considered him a blood traitor.”

And the air was suddenly sucked out of the room. Draco had been dreading this question since he first spoke to George.

“I don’t,” he said quietly, draining his cup. “I never did.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

“Look,” said Draco, his jaw tight. “I’m not going to sit here and spew bullshit about being all reformed.”

“You’re not? But-“

“I never did anything that required reforming.”

“You? You’re mental, you know that? You just…” Hermione stood up, pointing a finger at Draco. “You just stood by and did nothing! You spineless coward!”

“Oh, so that, according to you, means I deserve Azkaban?” Draco stood too, leaning forward slightly so that they were eye to eye. “It’s in the past Granger. We’ve all moved on. Why don’t you?”

With that, he turned and swept in a very Malfoy manner out of her office. Hermione sat back in her chair, stunned at his outburst. She reached for the tequila and topped up her glass.

**

Chapter 3

It had been two weeks since their argument in her office, and they had been very careful to avoid each other. Draco would slink into his cubicle every day and brace himself for the pile of rejections from the families he’d owled for the fundraiser. He would then begin drafting replies, trying to persuade them to change their minds. Most days he felt that bashing his head against a brick wall would achieve more.

The thing is, Lady Greengrass was the big catch. The ton followed her in every way. Before the war, it had been his mother, but being put under house arrest and married to an Azkaban inmate did very little for one’s social standing. So, in stepped Vivian Greengrass. The bitch had had her eye on Narcissa’s position from the beginning, and now she ruled the dwindling pureblood social scene with an iron fist. If Draco could convince her to buy a table, the rest would surely follow.

But it wasn’t that easy. He’d ignored Astoria for most of his life, tending to prefer Pansy Parkinson’s company. Vivian obviously wanted Draco and Astoria to be a couple, but with the Malfoy’s being persona non grata, she didn’t need nor want the connection anymore. Hindsight, Draco decided, was definitely 20/20.

Granger had been on his case for the past week to finalize the table numbers with intra office memos that he’d ignored. Instead, he worked on a game plan to win over Queen B Greengrass.

His planning was interrupted by a memo landing on his desk. Looking closer, he realized it was, in fact, a howler. Before he could grab it and tear it to smithereens, it unfolded and Hermione’s voice echoed through the office.

“Malfoy, I have given you more than enough time. If you cannot get the fundraiser figures to me before 3 o’clock today, don’t bother coming back. Ever. Again.”

Okay, so it wasn’t the meanest howler he’d received, but still, getting it in front of the entire office, which had the audacity to stop and stare at him, mentally sent him back to the brat he was in Hogwarts. He sneered at them and stormed into Granger’s office, slamming the door behind him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snapped at her.

She looked up from the speech she’d been drafting for the war veterans society and glared.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” she snapped.

“I will not be sent howlers in the office, Granger. It’s unprofessional.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “What on earth do you know about being professional? You can’t ignore my memos. I need those figures. We need to finalize the plans. You are obviously not doing your job.”

“My job?” Draco huffed an exasperated laugh. “My job is a joke. How on earth do you think I can get any one of these families to support your cause?”

“You’re one of them,” she said with a shrug.

“Oh trust me; I haven’t been part of them for a long time. This is ridiculous and you’re ridiculous for asking this in the first place.” Draco felt his blood boiling. She had set him up to fail in front of everyone.

“It’s not that hard, Draco. You just need to be polite.” She sniffed and went back to her work.

With a growl, Draco reached across the desk, grabbed her arm and hauled her to his side.

“What are you…Draco! Get your bloody hands off me!” She shrieked as he dragged her out of her office and towards his cubicle. He roughly pushed her into his chair and anchoring her there with a firm grip on her shoulder, pointed to the high piles of correspondence drowning his desk.

“This pile is the original responses, this one copies of my replies, this one is the replies to my replies ad infinitum, you sodding Mu…bitch.” He growled.

The office around them was silent.

Hermione eyed the towers of letters and rejections, feeling almost sorry for Malfoy. Almost. She shrugged off his hand and went back to her office. A few seconds later she emerged with her handbag and coat. Grabbing Draco by the arm as she passed him, she pulled him towards the Floo and within seconds, they were in the Leaky Cauldron.

“I’ve already eaten,” Draco sneered to cover up his embarrassment at not being fully dressed in public. She could have at least given him a moment to grab his jacket.

“You were causing a scene.” She said simply and headed towards a corner booth. Once Draco was seated across from her, she cast a _Muffliato_ on it. “Right, why didn’t you tell me you were having so much trouble? Why leave it to the eleventh hour?”

“I have it all under control,” he said motioning to the bartender for a round of Firewhiskey.

“You obviously don’t Malfoy.” She leaned back and eyed him silently as the bottle of Firewhiskey and two less than clean glasses appeared on the table. Draco was silent while he poured two generous portions into the glasses. He gulped down half of his in one go. Hermione sipped hers in a more dainty fashion.

“Ok, what’s your plan?” she asked, crossing her arms on the table and leaning forward. Draco valiantly tried to stop his eyes from staring at the cleavage peeking out of the top of her button down shirt, but there was a wisp of dark blue lace that kept his eyes there.

When Draco didn’t answer immediately, Hermione leaned back, arms crossed over her chest. Draco blinked and came out of his daze.

“Plan?” he croaked. “Oh, yes. Yes. I have a plan. But it might backfire, epically.”

“Will it get the tables sold?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Draco grinned and poured himself another drink.

“It’s not illegal, is it?” Hermione pushed her glass closer for a refill.

Draco stayed quiet and poured her drink.

“Malfoy…” Hermione warned.

Draco closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt a hand rest on his next to his glass. He opened his eyes and stared at their hands. Hermione, realizing what she had done, quickly pulled her hand away.

“Malfoy,” she said softly. “You do have a plan, don’t you?”

Draco nodded. “I need to somehow get Vivian Greengrass to buy a table. The rest will follow.”

“So? What’s the problem? Didn’t you date Astoria at one stage?”

“You paid attention to who I dated?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

“No!” Hermione sputtered in indignation. “It was just a rumor I heard.”

“So, you paid attention to rumors of me,” Draco smirked.

“Shut up. Now, Greengrass.” She prompted.

“She won’t return my owls. Without her, we’ll have a very empty fundraiser. I don’t understand why you want to invite them in the first place. They’re the opposition!”

“Exactly. If we can get them on our side, things will be a lot easier.”

“You’re deluding yourself if you think any pureblood family will support a Muggle supporter,” Draco scoffed.

“Or maybe I’m just up for a challenge,” Hermione countered.

“Then you’re setting yourself up to fail.” Draco said and poured himself another drink.

“So, this plan of yours…what is it?” Hermione pressed.

“Greengrass rules the pureblood society scene. We need to convince her to buy a table.”

“So you’ve said. What about Astoria?”

“Married. That avenue is closed to us.”

“What then?”

“We lie.”

“Lie? We can’t lie! We’re in politics!”

“Exactly.” Draco said.

Hermione fixed him with a hard look. “If we start a campaign based on lies, then we might as well pack up and go home.”

“Do you know anything about politics?” Draco scoffed.

Hermione bristled at this. “Of course I do!”

“Then you should know that lying comes with the territory.”

Hermione gaped at him. “I can’t condone that.”

“Then you won’t get your tables sold. Easy as that.”

Hermione pulled her lips into the thin line as she contemplated Draco’s suggestion. After a few minutes she cleared her throat.

“And how much lying, exactly, will we be doing?”

Draco smirked. “Simple omission of a few details.”

He leaned forward and began to fill her in.

 

**

A week later, Hermione peeked through the curtains on the stage, taking in the crowded room. Draco’s plan had worked. Every table was full. She could make out the section where Greengrass and her followers were seated. The rest of the tables were occupied by the various Muggle friendly causes that supported the Weasley campaign.

This was going to be interesting.

She felt someone step up behind her. A solid warmth all along her back.

“Brian, what…” the T stuttered off her tongue as she turned and found Draco looking over her shoulder at the crowd. “Oh, Malfoy!”

“Yes, just me, not your slimy American beater,” he sneered.

“He is not slimy,” Hermione shot back, her hands automatically going to rest on her hips.

Draco shrugged. “If you say so. I find all Americans slimy.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that? You’re not only a racist, but you’re a xenophobe as well.”

“Sticks and stones Granger,” he replied, stepping closer to stare her down.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply and caught a whiff of something she couldn’t place, but it sent her heart into overdrive. Her throat closed and her mouth went dry. Draco was still staring her down, pupils dilated, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip.

She tried to take a step back, but Draco caught her arm, pulling her forward.

“What?” she squeaked, her eyes widening.

“You were about to go through the curtain,” Draco explained, breaking the spell.

Hermione extracted herself from his grip and straightened her jacket while clearing her throat. “Yes, well, personal space is obviously a foreign concept to you.” She slipped past him towards the backstage area, to prep Arthur on his speech.

Draco watched her walk away, his nose still full of the smell of Jasmine and orange blossoms. That woman was a bane to his existence and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her. His mind now replaced that slimy American with him in the embrace with Hermione. It was him resting his hands on her hips, feeling her pressed up against him, nibbling on his lips.

Oh for fuck’s sake, this damned election couldn’t be over soon enough.

 

**

Chapter 4.

Arthur Weasley stepped out onto the stage to a mixed reaction from the attendees. Most were clapping and cheering, but a large group on the left sat in shocked silence. Arthur swallowed the nerves choking him and approached the podium, speech in hand.

His hands shook slightly as he took his place, resting the cards in front of him. The cheers died down into respectful silence waiting for him to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen, wizards, witches and other magical beings, let me start by thanking you for your support of our campaign.”

Hermione stood backstage watching Arthur and silently mouthing the words to the speech. Draco stood by the refreshments table making a cup of tea. Without realizing it, he made two. With a shrug, he picked them up and headed towards Granger, only to be intercepted by George.

“Oh, perfect,” George said, taking the second cup out of Draco’s hands. “I needed this.”

Draco watched him with wide eyes. He’d learned to be on his guard when George was around. It was George’s fault that he was in this mess in the first place.

“What do you want George?” Draco sighed, before blowing on his tea and taking a sip.

“How’d you do it?” George asked.

“Do what?” Draco aimed for innocence with his expression, but judging by the look George was giving him, he failed.

“Get ol’ Greenbucks and her crew here.”

Draco shrugged. He was prepared to share his idea with Granger, but there was no way in hell he was telling George. “Ask Granger,” he said instead.

“I tried, but she’s not spilling.” George actually pouted.

Draco huffed a laugh. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? If Granger isn’t saying then I won’t either.”

George was about to reply when a commotion drew their attention to the hall.

“-think that we would actually accept these ridiculous policies. Not only are they Muggle friendly but also anti pureblood!” Vivian Greengrass was standing at her table, finger pointed at Arthur, who had paled.

George and Draco rushed to the edge of the curtain and watched as Hermione took the podium, gently pushing Arthur out of the way.

“Mrs. Greengrass, our policies hardly target pureblood families. In fact, these policies will only benefit the wizarding community at large.” Hermione kept her voice calm and even, but Draco could see her clutching the podium so hard, her knuckles were turning white. He stepped past George and joined her in front of the crowd.

“Draco Malfoy, how dare you be part of this…this…”

“Evolution of the wizarding world?” Draco finished for her. “Quite right. Who wants to advance with the times when the old laws were working so well? Those very same laws that oiled the wheels that led to the last war.” He stared her down.

“You…you…you’re a disgrace to your family line!” she bellowed and swept out of the hall, her entourage following like a wave.

In the silence, one could hear a quill drop. Hermione cleared her throat and turned to the audience. “Well, now that that’s been resolved, shall we let Mr. Weasley continue?”

A lone figure stood up at the back of the hall, arm raised. Hermione acknowledged the wizard with a nod.

“James Collins, _Daily Prophet_.” He said, setting up his dicatquill. “Tell me Miss Granger, how will the pureblood families be affected by your policies? From what I’ve heard, they do seem to only benefit Muggleborns and magical beings.”

“Our policies aim to better educate the wizarding community about the society they live with. Our Hogwarts exchange program is designed to show young witches and wizards how Muggles live, giving them a chance to experience it for themselves, thereby being better equipped to deal with the Muggle world.”

“And the Auror training? Surely that can’t be compulsory?”

“And why not?” Draco stepped in front of Hermione. The reporter smirked in response.

“It could only lead to having very dangerous dark wizards in our society.” He responded.

Hermione tried to push Draco off the podium, but only succeeded in getting his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled tight against him.

“The Muggles promote civil service for their graduates, I don’t see why we can’t do the same here.” Draco responded.

“So, you’re expecting another war Mr. Malfoy?”

“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Hermione muttered darkly.

“No, Mr. Collins. In fact, I hope we never see another war again. But it helps to be prepared.” Draco replied, voice unwavering.

Hermione subtly stepped on Draco’s foot, distracting him enough to loosen his grip on her and push him away from the podium. “Thank you for the questions, Mr. Collins. The Weasley Campaign appreciates the support of the _Daily Prophet_. Now, back to Mr. Weasley.” With a flourish, she pulled Arthur back to the podium and manhandled Draco off to the side of the stage and behind the curtains.

Once safely away from the audience, Hermione rounded on him, hands back on her hips. Draco noticed this was becoming her default stance when they spoke and he couldn’t help but notice how it seemed to push her chest out slightly. And missed the beginning of her tirade.

“-not worth antagonizing the press,” she said, jabbing a finger in his chest. “You are only a campaign assistant. Not a spokesperson, not a representative. Not a public figure. Do you understand?”

“What is your problem? I put him in his place!” Draco crossed his arms.

“And cost us Greengrass in the process!” her voice rose an octave.

“But we have her money, and that’s all that matters, doesn’t it?”

Hermione screwed her face up at him, as if he was a puzzle she couldn’t figure out. “Maybe that’s all that matters to you.” She said and left him standing in the dark, dumbfounded.

He watched as Brian intercepted her, wound an arm around her waist and escorted her away.

**

Despite the little uproar caused by Greengrass, the fundraiser was a hit. Hermione sat at a vacated table long after the last guests had left, shoes discarded to the side, while the cleaning crew swept up around her. She kept replaying Malfoy’s comment over and over in her head. It was all about the money, wasn’t it? She was slowly beginning to see that politics was not about changing the course of a nation. It wasn’t about providing for the basic needs of its country. It was about money. Back handed deals, lying, begging and inevitably, blackmail.

She frowned, wishing the election would just hurry up and come to a close already. Maybe, just maybe Arthur would lose and then she could get on with her life. She gasped at the idea. Did she really want him to lose? But if he won, she’d be deputy minister. Isn’t that what she had been aiming for? Protect the house elves, campaign for werewolf rights, negotiate giant territories. All the good things she wanted to see happen in the wizarding world. Equality above all else.

But the mere thought of actually having to do this sent a ball of dread to weigh heavy in her stomach. Hermione Granger didn’t accept defeat. Didn’t quit. Didn’t run away. However, a strategic retreat out of politics might save her sanity.

The seat next to her was pulled out and Malfoy slumped down in it. He placed a two glasses on the table before popping open the bottle of champagne.

Here was another problem, Hermione realized. Draco sodding Malfoy. She didn’t notice at first, but he had somehow wormed his way into her head. It happened earlier when she was snogging Brian in the coat check room, behind a rack of winter coats. He had his arms around her and his lips against her neck and she was just beginning to enjoy it when an image of Malfoy floated into her mind. She saw his blonde hair against her neck, his pale arms around her and well, she freaked out. Just a little. Just enough that Brian stopped working on an impressive hickie and pulled away, a frown on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, just…need to get back…you know. Hand shaking and such.” She had extracted herself from his grasp and ran as if being chased by Voldemort himself.

When she looked around a little later, Brian was nowhere to be seen. And Malfoy was now offering her a glass of champagne.

“You think I owe you an apology,” she said, swirling the champagne around in the glass, not looking at him. “I won’t though.”

Draco shrugged and sipped at his champagne. “I didn’t expect you to,” he said.

She looked at the bottle on the table and giggled. “Have you noticed that whenever we’re alone, we have some sort of booze with us?”

“Think of it as a buffer.” He said.

Hermione drained her glass and Draco refilled it.

“It’s sad that we need a buffer in order to talk to each other,” she took a sip from her glass.

“You just need to learn how to talk to people in general, Granger,” Draco replied.

Hermione blinked at the statement. “I know how to talk to people.”

“No, you talk at people.”

Hermione frowned. “You’re just trying to pick a fight with me.”

“No, just making an observation.”

They sat in silence, finishing the bottle between them. Hermione then _Accio’d_ a second bottle. She earned this dammit.

“You know,” she said after Draco had opened the second bottle. “I think,” she hiccupped. “Oh, bugger. I think that you have changed.”

Draco scoffed. “Don’t be silly Granger. People don’t change.”

Hermione leaned closer, squinting up at Draco. “No, you’ve changed. I just can’t figure out how.”

She was close, very close. Draco just had to lean less than an inch to kiss her. He gathered up every drop of courage he had and slumped back in his seat, widening the space between them.

“You’re still a coward for one,” Hermione said, draining her glass and indicating for a refill. Draco obliged.

“I never claimed to be brave,” he countered.

Hermione hummed in agreement and sipped at her drink.

“You’re purposely getting drunk.”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“Why not? I averted the end of a man’s career today. I may end up winning this election for him. Whoop dee doo.” She giggled.

Draco wasn’t feeling very sober himself, but it was obvious Granger was a lightweight. “Maybe you should continue the party at home.” He suggested lightly.

“What, sit alone in my apartment and drink? Besides, I’m out of wine.” She grouched and cradled her glass.

“I could..Well…call Brian to…sit…with you.” Draco never realized how much saying a sentence could hurt as much as the bullshit he’d just spewed.

Hermione waved a hand. “Nah. It’s pointless. He’s just…nothing. Forget it. I should go home and sleep.” She pushed herself to her feet, and ambled towards the Floo. Draco watched her walk away, a small smile on his face.

As he reached for his glass, his eye caught something shiny peeking out from underneath the table cloth. Picking it up, he found himself holding a shoe. He bent down and found the other shoe lying a little further under the table. They had to be Granger’s he realized, turning them over and seeing the red sole.

With a sigh he stood, shoes in hand and headed towards the Floo. “Granger!” he called just as the green flames enveloped her.

Bugger.

He could go after her. But that would mean being in her flat. Alone. With a drunk Granger. Who he’d probably be able to kiss without getting slapped. Well, not too hard anyway.

Draco stood in front of the fireplace, shoes in hand, indecisive of his next move. The pros and cons were pretty much evenly split.

With a sigh, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and went home.

**

Chapter 5.

On Monday morning Hermione stopped short as she entered her office. Sitting in the middle of her desk was her lost pair of shoes. She thought she’d lost them forever when she woke up on Saturday to find them missing.

And yet, there they were. Resting on top of that morning’s copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

Hermione rounded her desk and sank into her seat, grabbing her shoes and stuffing them into the bottom desk drawer. The headline of the Prophet caught her eye and her heart stopped for a second.

“WEASLEY TOO PRO MUGGLE?”

_At Friday night’s fundraiser for the Arthur Weasley ministerial campaign, this journalist witnessed first-hand how purebloods would be treated should Weasley win the election._

_Lady Vivian Greengrass was not only insulted, but chased out of the benefit altogether, after pointing out irregularities in the campaign’s proposed policies._

Hermione saw red. She grabbed the paper and stormed to her office door.

“Malfoy!” she shouted across the office.

There was no response from his cubicle. Cho peeked over her cubicle.

“He owled in sick, Hermione.” She said softly.

With a growl, Hermione went back into her office, grabbed her bag and coat and floo’d to Malfoy’s apartment.

Draco was lying on his couch, watching TV and eating cereal. He raised an eyebrow as Hermione stepped out of the fireplace.

“What the hell do you…” she broke off, staring at the TV. “Since when do you watch telly?”

“What do you want, Granger?” Draco snarled from the couch.

Hermione shook herself and concentrated on the issue at hand. Draco was bunking off work.

“Why are you not at the office?”

Draco shrugged. “Not feeling well,” he mumbled.

She thrust the paper under his nose. “You think calling in sick will stop me from finding out about this?”

Draco pushed the paper away. Of course he’d seen it when he arrived and dropped off Granger’s shoes. He knew she’d be furious. What he didn’t know was that she’d actually show up in his home and accost him.

“What do you expect me to do about this? You’re the Campaign Manager,” he scoffed.

“This is all your fault,” she said. “You ran your mouth off and…and…look at this! We can’t afford to have this kind of bad PR.”

Draco shot up off the couch and towered over her. “How exactly is any of this my fault? I didn’t draft those policies. I wasn’t even consulted on it! All I did was what you asked. I sold fucking tables.”

“Well, maybe if you’d sold them to the right people, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

By now, they were both shouting at each other, standing a few inches apart.

“The right people?” Draco began waving his hands. “And who, exactly, Granger, are the right people?”

“The ones on the list. If you weren’t such a useless, pathetic, cowardly, piec-“

She never did get to finish that sentence. Talking was a bit of a challenge when you had someone else’s tongue in your mouth.

Hermione was so angry she pushed back into the kiss, trying to show just how upset she was. Obviously there was a flaw in this logic, but she’d left that back in her office. With her shoes.

Draco had grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and pulled her in. He was originally just trying to stop her from talking and this was the best course of action.

Obviously.

He ran his hands over her shoulders until he was cupping her face, effectively trapping her in the kiss. Not that she showed any signs of ending it any time soon. This was not the reaction he had anticipated and took full advantage of the situation.

He held her close and tried to soften the kisses until they conveyed what he actually wanted to say to her. Which was…well…he hadn’t quite figured it out, but it was positive. Mostly.

The kiss evolved, slowly, from a full frontal attack to a softer exploration. As Hermione’s hands fisted in Draco’s t-shirt, his hands travelled down her back, holding her close, enjoying the press of her all along his front.

With a throaty growl, the kiss changed once more. It took an edge of hasty desperation. Somehow they felt they were running out of time.

Draco felt Hermione’s hands run down his chest, gathering up his t-shirt at the hem and pulling it up. He lifted his arms, allowing her to pull it up and off. Their kiss broke for the first time since it started, and desperate to keep whatever it was that was happening, Draco dove in to continue the kiss the moment his head was free of his shirt.

**

Chapter 6

As Hermione ran her hands up his naked chest, Draco began to stutter in his movements. There was so much he wanted to do; he couldn’t decide which came first. Who came first? Maybe, if he just kept kissing her, she wouldn’t notice that he wasn’t sure of the next step.

Draco frantically thought back to all the porn he had watched with Blaise.

Zabini had procured a Muggle laptop and shortly after, discovered the internet. Draco recalled sitting in Blaise’s apartment, watching him type in the website addresses.

“Zabini, of all the wealth and knowledge in the world, you use the internet for porn?”

Blaise has shrugged. “That’s what the internet was invented for.”

Draco had seen some very disturbing clips. Groups of men shagging the daylights out of a single woman. People sucking and licking each other in intimate places. Toys and ropes and chains.

He was convinced Hermione wouldn’t want any of that. Not right now. At this moment, Draco just wanted a step by step guide to doing it normally.

By now, Hermione had pushed him down until he was seated on the couch, and crawled into his lap to straddle him. All the time kissing him, hands exploring his chest. She gently pinched a nipple and Draco’s brain (well, both of them) came back into the moment. And it was overwhelming.

He pulled back and gently pushed Hermione away so that he could look at her without going squint.

“What?” she asked, breathless and flushed. Her pupils blown wide.

“I…uh…” he flushed with embarrassment.

“You don’t want to do this, do you?” Hermione said, pushing away to stand up.

He tightened his grasp around her waist.

“No, it’s definitely not like that.” He leaned forward and kissed her.

She looked at him with a puzzled expression before she raised her eyebrows. “Oh my gods, you’re not a virgin, are you?”

Draco blushed deeply and Hermione chuckled.

“I hardly think this is a laughing matter,” he growled.

“I’m sorry. It’s just. Well…how?” she giggled.

“I know how.” He defended.

“No, I mean, how are you still…you know.”

“It doesn’t matter, ok. So, do you still want to?” Draco asked, leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“Only if you promise me one thing,” she said, returning the kiss.

“Anything,” he whispered, breathing in her soft scent.

“Don’t let this complicate anything.”

“What, like actually being nice to you at work? Never.” He pressed another kiss to her lips before leaving a trail down her jaw to her neck.

She gasped and melted against him. “M…ma…aaaahhhh…maybe you should…gnuh….take off my shirt?”

Bugger, he was cocking this up already. With shaking hands, he began to pull the shirt out of her skirt, which had ridden high up on her thighs. She swayed her crotch towards him, rubbing against him. His vision blurred for a moment and he knew he was in trouble.

“Don’t…just…don’t move.” He muttered, pulling frantically at the shirt, shoving it up and over her head. He then reached around and tried to undo her bra. He cursed as his fingers fumbled and resorted to pulling the straps down her arms instead. The bra now lay around her waist, her breasts at eye level. He paused for a moment, taking them in before Hermione pushed forward and he did the only thing he could.

He grabbed a nipple between his lips and sucked. His other hand went to the other breast and gently, tentatively began to massage it. Hermione let out a long, loud groan that went straight to his cock. Her hands fumbled behind her for a moment, releasing the bra catch and pulling it away. She then threaded her fingers through his hair, cupping his head against her chest.

He knew that sometime soon, he’d have to go below the belt, so to speak, and was torn between wanting to stay attached to her chest for the rest of the night, avoiding the overwhelming uncertainty that lay in that direction, or just going for it.

Hermione moaned again and that seemed to make up his mind. He removed his hand from her breast and slid it down her chest and along her thigh, until he found the hem of her skirt. He then slid his hand inwards to her inner thigh before pushing back up until her felt the soft cotton of her panties. It was hot and damp and Draco realized she definitely wanted this.

With eager, shaking fingers, he pulled the material aside and began to explore, listening carefully to her reactions.

It was nothing like Blaise had explained. It was so much more.

Suddenly his lap was empty and Hermione was standing in front of him. He felt as though she’d skipped a few pages and he was lost. He sat there, bulge in his pajama pants, feeling like a fool.

Hermione quirked a smile and slid her skirt and panties down her legs.

Oh.

Oooohhhh. Right.

He stood as well and shimmied off his pants. He blushed at being so exposed to another person but realized that she was blushing just as much.

“So…uh…what now?” he asked, feeling like an utter fool standing starker’s in his living room with a woman he never thought he’d have in this position.

She seemed to contemplate his question. “Well, um…just…sit.” She said softly and blinked in surprise at his obedience.

Hermione straddled him again, pushing herself up on her knees. She took his hand and held it to her entrance, pressing against his fingers, showing him how to press and prod and practically strum her as if she was a guitar. After a few moments, she pulled her hand away, gripping Draco around the neck and kissing him deeply. Draco continued his strumming and then remembered that he could, in fact, press inwards and up. He did so, dragging a low moan from Hermione. It was encouragement enough for him to do it again and again until he had established a rhythm. His hips moved in time with his hand and he could feel his cock trapped between them and decided that if he was going to lose his sodding virginity, now was the time.

He pulled his hand away, and Hermione whimpered.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Oh gods. Just his luck that he’d hurt her with his hand. She probably wants to leave now.

She shook her head and looked him in the eye.

“Draco Malfoy,” she whispered. “I’m fine. I’ll be more than fine once you get over your issues and get on with the shagging.”

Draco blinked. For a second he thought she was on drugs or rather drunk, but then she kissed him and all he could think was…well…nothing really. Her kisses seemed to short circuit his brain.

He grabbed hold of his cock and carefully lined himself up before pushing in. He paused after an inch to catch his breath. Hermione released a huff and pushed down very quickly before wincing.

“Oh gods, are you sure you-“

She cut him off with another kiss. After what seemed like ages, she began to move, slowly rolling her hips, rising a little then pressing back down. Draco was going to come. He could feel it. The slow, intense burn, his nerve endings on fire and the tight wet heat surrounding him.

He grabbed her hips and looked down to where their bodies were joined. A smear of red caught his eye.

“Hermione! You’re…you’re bleeding!” he shouted.

She nodded and kissed him, speeding up her movements as she grabbed his hand and pressed his fingers against her clit. He began pressing and rubbing it as his hips began to snap upwards, pushing further and further into her. Everything narrowed down to that movement, that sensation, that moment of pure happiness and fulfillment.

Draco couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He bit down on her neck and came.

Hermione felt him come and ground against his fingers and he felt her shuddered around him.

She kissed him softly this time and they sat there, catching their breath.

When Draco felt his brain began working again, he pulled back and frowned at the girl in his arms.

“You could have told me,” he said.

Hermione shrugged. “You were freaked out as it was.”

“But why me?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and stood up, trying to hide the slight wince that flashed across her face.  She gathered up her clothes and disappeared into his bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Draco performed a quick _Scourgify_ and pulled up his pajama pants. He had just lost his virginity to Hermione Granger. No, wait, there was a mutual loss of virginity.

What, exactly just happened?

**

Chapter 7

When Hermione left Draco’s flat after a short shower, and an awkward goodbye leaving him on the couch staring into the distance, she went back to the office. It wasn’t even lunchtime.

She barricaded herself in her office and had Cho handle all the visitors and messages. Even George didn’t bother her.

She put her head on her desk, and prayed for the ground to open and swallow her up.

What the hell had she just done?

She decided to blame it on extenuating stress and pulled the owls in her in tray closer.

**

Chapter 8

The fallout of the article blew over within a week after Hermione had arranged for Arthur to visit a widows and orphans home for estranged purebloods. This bought him some goodwill in the public eye and the campaign was back on track.

Hermione also carefully avoided being in the same room as Draco as much as possible. This wasn’t a difficult strategy as Draco seemed to be doing the same. The coward, she scoffed to herself as she ducked behind a hanging banner inside the ballroom they had set up, while looking for the nearest exit. Draco had spotted her and had turned right around and left to stand with the constituents outside.

The day of the election dawned dark and raining. Not the best weather to inspire people to go vote, but the population turned out in droves.

Hermione sat in her office, a constant stream of owls keeping her updated on the ballot counting. Arthur was beside himself with nerves and George and Draco were working hard to keep him distracted. When Arthur had knocked over the mounted map of Britain for the third time, Hermione snapped her quill and stepped out of her office. George came over with a gleeful smile on his face.

“Pub?” he asked.

“Pub,” she confirmed.

George grabbed Arthur and Draco and led them to the Floo.

“Don’t get him drunk!” she shouted as they disappeared into the green flames.

Brian stepped up behind her and placed a hand on her hip, causing her to jump and elbow him in the face.

“Ow, fuck,” he cried, grabbing onto his nose.

“Oh Brian! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you…are you okay?” she said, wincing at the red glow his nose adopted.

“Fine, I’m fine. Just. I’ll stand over here.” He said, taking a wide step back.

“What do you think our chances are?” she asked, hoping to deflect from his injury and his potential idea to go snog in a broom closet.

Brian sniffed, prodded his nose carefully and shrugged. “Too early to tell, but if the running points were any indication, we have a close call with Brendon Calfield ”

When she didn’t say anything, he narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her.

“What?” she asked, hand immediately going to check that her hair hadn’t exploded out of her neat French twist.

“You…you look a little different.”

Hermione paled. He couldn’t possibly know!

“Different?” she squeaked.

“Yes,” Brian nodded. “You’re glowing.”

“That new moisturizer sure delivers on its promise then.” she said quickly and hurried away.

**

It was close to midnight and the voting stations had closed three hours ago and yet the counting continued. Hermione was jittery with nerves. This was it. This was what they had been working towards all these months.

The Floo flared to life and George stumbled into the office.

“Hermione! Hermiiiiiiiooooonnneeeee,” he called, stumbling into a desk before flopping down into the chair.

With a sigh, she left her office. “George, I told you not to get drunk,”

“Uh uh,” he says, waving a finger. “You told me not to get Arthur drunk. Which I didn’t. I, however am well drunk, thank you.”

“A bit early to celebrate, don’t you think?” she leaned against the desk.

“We’ve got it in the bag and you know it,” George scoffed. He squinted up at her for a long time. “You know ‘Mione, you’re allowed to be happy.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Draco, obviously.” George huffed. “After a few pints that man can run his mouth off. Kept going on about some girl who smelled of jasmine and tasted even sweeter. I’m going to take a leap of logic and say he was talking about you.”

Not so much a leap as a stumble, Hermione thought.

“There’s nothing going on between Draco and myself.”

“Why not?” George asked. “You’ve got more sparks than the fireworks we hit Umbridge with back in school.”

With that, he tipped his head back and passed out.

Great, just great. Now she had to get to the pub to make sure Draco didn’t let Arthur run his mouth off in front of any journalists. An owl fluttered into the office and landed on George’s shoulder. Hermione pulled the parchment attached to its leg.

With a smile, she stuck the parchment to George’s forehead after scribbling a quick note and flew into the Floo.

**

Chapter 9

The pub was crowded, smoky and very lively when Hermione arrived. She immediately sought out Arthur and pulled him aside to share the news.

“Now can I have a pint?” he asked, motioning to the butterbeer he’d had to drink the whole night.

Hermione nodded and left him to his celebrations. She looked around the pub, hoping to see Harry or Ginny or even Ron, but the crowds were thicker than the smoke. She deflated and felt the fatigue wash over her. She crept back to the Floo and headed home.

Seconds after she stepped into her living room, the Floo flared up and in stepped Draco. Well, more stumbled than stepped.

“Malfoy, wha-?”

“Oh, so now I’m back to being Malfoy?” he sneered, trying very hard not to sway where he stood. “Good to know where we stand.” He belched.

“Oh Merlin! Malfoy, go home and sleep it off.” She grabbed his arm to steer him to her fireplace. He rips his arm from her grip and stumbles backwards, colliding with her couch and sinking to the floor.

“I don’t want to sleep it off.” He mumbles. “I want to sleep with you. Properly. In a bed.”

Hermione blinks her eyes a few times, taking in what he’d confessed.

“You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying. You’re right. I am a coward. This is the only way I can tell you the truth.”

Draco made a sad picture, leaning against her couch, legs spread out in front of him, stooped and defeated.

“Oh Malfoy,” she whispered and sat down next to him. “You promised you wouldn’t make this awkward for us.”

Draco lunged to the side and caught her in a kiss that shut off every little voice telling her this was a bad idea.

His kisses were Firewhiskey flavored and warmed her up in all the right places. There was a flurry of activity as they ripped off their clothes, cursing as belts, zips and hooks kept slipping from their fingers.

Soon they were both naked, Draco draped over Hermione, kissing and nipping at her neck. He looked up and into her eyes, a smirk forming on his lips.

“What?” she asked, suddenly very afraid of what he might say.

“I’ve always wanted to try something,” he said, gave her a peck on the lips and slid down her body until his face was level with her pussy.

“You’re joking,” she gasped.

He frowned at her, then dropped his gaze to concentrate on the juncture before him. It looked different to the ones he’d seen on the internet. Maybe it was because here it was close up and real. Her lips glistened and his mouth began to water.

This, he told himself, he’d better not cock up.

He bent his head and kissed her there. Hermione gasped and her hips tilted up, pressing firmly against his lips. He opened his mouth and carefully ran his tongue along the folds, gathering up her juices. The taste was odd, but not unappealing. He then pushed his tongue between the folds and swirled it around, dragging it up and back into his mouth. Hermione let out a shout.

“Oh Merlin, do that again!” she grabbed his hair and tried to move his head in the right direction. The pull against his scalp sent delicious shivers down his spine. He pressed his tongue in again, dragging it up, pressing as hard as he could, as if licking an ice cream cone.

He felt a nub on his exit and experimentally pressed the tip of his tongue against it. Hermione nearly pulled out his hair and pressed her thighs tight together, effectively trapping his head there. So that’s where the clit was. Draco felt as if he’d discovered the greatest treasure in the world. He kept prodding the tip of his tongue against the nub, twirling and nipping it for variety.

Hermione was losing her mind, arching up, grinding against his face and shouting like a woman possessed.

Finally Draco pulled away and pushed two fingers into her. Hermione screamed and promptly blacked out.

When she came to, Draco was sucking lightly on a nipple, his erection pressed to her thigh, leaving a wet trail. She ran a hand through his hair, causing him to look up. He pushed up her body until they were eye to eye and kissed her as if he was a dying man and her lips held the elixir of life.

His hips pressed against hers and she nodded, widening her legs, allowing him entrance.

With a kiss, he reached down and lined up, pushing himself into her carefully and slowly. Hermione sighed as he pressed forward, filling her up.

“Oh Merlin,” Draco gasped. “I…I need…”

Somehow, she understood what he meant and nodded. Draco smiled widely, pressed a kiss to her lips that stole her breath and began a hard, pounding rhythm that pushed her closer and closer to that free falling feeling she had discovered and wanted more of. He kept kissing her. Her neck, her cheeks, her lips. Anywhere he could reach while not faltering. His hips began to stutter, pushing in and grinding against her. Hermione felt her muscles tighten around him, holding him in place for a few seconds before he’d pull out and repeat the whole process.

Draco stopped kissing her and caught her eye, holding her attention while his hips continued to stutter until his entire body shuddered, causing him to close his eyes and growl. The sound went straight to her vagina and she trembled with another orgasm.

He rolled off of her to the side and pulled her flush against him, so that she was draped over his chest, leg thrown across his.

They lay like that for a long time, not speaking, just catching their breath.

**

Chapter 10

Hermione sat behind her desk, working through the pile in her inbox, but not actually seeing anything. She’d just lost her virginity to Draco Malfoy and then slept with him again. She should, by all rights, be berating herself for her behavior. She should feel disgusted, embarrassed and even guilty, but when she analyzed her emotions, those were not present.

To be honest, she felt giddy. Happy even. Excited in a way. There was something in the way he kissed her. It was so different to Brian. It had so many elements that made it better, just considering it made her head spin. She knew that she’d made the right decision, she just couldn’t put her finger on why exactly it was right.

She replayed the morning in her mind, over and over. How he held her tight against him and how it felt safe and comfortable. How being so close to him felt like the most natural thing in the world. The way he spoke to her, worried about her, exclaiming when he saw the truth. It caused her stomach to flip flop, her skin broke out in goose bumps and she smiled in the goofiest way.

Hermione put it down to having a really good shag. Or two. It was nothing more.

But then she’d recall what he’d said. The he wanted to sleep in a bed. With her. That was more than a shag, obviously. But what did he mean? Was that really him or just the Firewhiskey talking?

Argh! She couldn’t get any work done like this.

She put her head down and hoped it would all just go away.

**

Draco hid in his cubicle. He was convinced that if anyone looked him in the eye, they’d know what he’d done. Every single dirty thing. And they’d also know that he didn’t ever want to stop.

He was embarrassed by his drunken confession. And even more embarrassed about how he’d almost shagged her into the floor. Not so much embarrassed about the first orgasm he gave her. But still, he didn’t think he could face her again, let alone anyone else.

George Weasley leaned against Draco’s cubicle.

“Why are you hiding here? We’ve got celebrating to do,” he said with a smile.

“Don’t you think you celebrated enough for the both of us?” Draco asked, absently flicking a piece of parchment around his desk.

“Never,” George said. “Come on, we’re taking an early lunch.”

“Hermione’s going to have your head,” Draco said.

“I think you mean, she’ll have yours,” George winked and pulled him through the Floo. Draco didn’t have a chance to look surprised.

**

George pushed a pint of ale towards Draco before leaning back in his seat.

“So, tell uncle Georgy what’s got you hiding in your cubicle. It can’t be Headmistress Granger – she’s been in an awfully good mood since the election.”

Draco choked on his ale.

“It’s nothing,” he choked out after coughing up the drink. “I just…I need to look for another job now.”

“No, you don’t.” George said.

“The election is over. No more campaign.”

“Yes, but Arthur is going to need aides to work in the ministry. I’ve already got your job for you. Just waiting for the ink to dry on the contract.”

“Why the hell are you so nice to me?” Draco asked, eyeing George with suspicion.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said George, feigning innocence.

“You get me a job on the campaign and now a job at the ministry. You’ve got to want something in return.”

“I just want you to treat her well,” George said cryptically.

“Who? Your sister?” Draco sighed. “I promise to never call her a red headed harpy ever again.”

“No, you fathead, Hermione.”

Draco paled. Did George really know, or was he fishing.

“I really don’t know what you mean. We fight. That’s our thing. The world would tilt the wrong way if we made up.”

“Seems to be tilting just fine with all the making…out.” George raised his eyebrows in anticipation.

“You’ve lost the plot mate. There is nothing between Granger and myself.”

“Then I’ll ask you the same thing I asked her.”

“Which is?”

“Why the hell not?” George drained his glass and motioned for another round.

“Because…it’s just…wrong. It can only end badly. Why are we discussing this like a pair of girls?” Draco motioned for some Firewhiskey too.

“Because you’re acting like a girl. Draco, I might be a joker, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind. You two are mad for each other. So what’s stopping you from just planting a fat one on her.” He made kissy sounds with pouted lips.

Draco bit his lip. “See, thing is…It…I…what I mean is she…we…”

George’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. “You’ve already shagged? Well then, I’m wasting my time here. This round’s on you, Romeo.”

“Ha. Not so much Romeo as Hamlet.”

“I don’t know – Romeo was a secret husband and then killed himself. I can see the relation.”

“Fuck off George. This is awkward. Really, really awkward.”

George rolled his eyes. “Not really. Just go in there, give her a kiss and in future introduce yourself as her boyfriend. She’ll come around eventually.”

“Or she’ll kill me and bury me out at sea.”

“What a fatalist. Fine. Brood. Drink. Deny and hide. They have a name for people like you in the Muggle world.”

“Hopeless case?”

“Emo.”

Draco shrugged and kept drinking. Maybe George would get the hint and shut his mouth about the whole thing.

**

 

Chapter 11

Cho knocked on Hermione’s office door.

“We’re out of quills,” she said, biting her lip.

Hermione looked up. “So? There’s more in the supply cupboard.”

Cho shook her head. “I’ve looked, but I can’t find any. Maybe I’m looking wrong?”

Hermione sighed. She did not have time for this. She had a meeting with a centaur representative in an hour and still had inches of laws to read through. “Fine, I’ll find them for you,”

She left her office, Cho trailing close behind and stepped into the supply cupboard. She knew she’d put the quills on a shelf towards the back. She was digging around when a soft body knocked into hers and the door slammed shut, cutting off the light.

“Cho! The door is broken, don’t let it close.”

The person cleared their throat. “Uh, not Cho and too late. About the door, that is.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Draco?” she’d left her wand in her office and so found herself locked in a closet, in the dark, with Draco.

When had her life become a cliché?

She felt Draco move to the side and lean against some of the shelves. She stepped forwards, towards the door and pounded on it shouting.

“It won’t do you any good. George threw me in here and locked the door. No one will let us out.” Draco explained.

“But why?” Hermione couldn’t keep the whine out of her voice.

“According to that deluded ginger nutcase out there, who is completely lying to us about being a friend by the way, we need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.”

“So, you’re happy with things the way they are?”

“What things? We shagged twice. It was nothing.”

Draco clenched his fists and willed himself to keep calm. “Was it really nothing?”

Hermione sighed. “Look, Draco, it’s perfectly normal to get attached to the person who you first sleep with, but we’re adults, not teenagers. We’re not a couple. We can’t ever be.”

“Why not?”

“Wait…do you want to be a couple?”

“Not necessarily, I just want to know, hypothetically, why we can’t be one, should we ever want to, you know, be one.”

“You’re a racist,” Hermione said, leaning again the shelves opposite Draco and sliding to the floor.

“Correction, I was a racist,”

Hermione snorted.

“When was the last time you heard me say anything racist? The whole blood thing? Pfft, over that the minute I realized how daft the entire idea was.”

“You’re also a xenophobe,”

“Oh please. Show me one normal person that likes Americans.”

“I like some American actors.”

“That’s totally different. And besides. I don’t hate all Americans…”

“Just Brian.”

“He’s a wanker.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“No. I just don’t like him.”

“Fine, whatever. So you’re not a racist and you’re not a xenophobe. You’re still an asshole,” Hermione knew she was grasping at straws here.

“If that’s the best you’ve got, then we’re in trouble.”

“Oh really?” Hermione raised an eyebrow as she felt Draco shift and move to sit next to her.

She felt his fingers run up her neck to her chin the pull her to face him.

“Oh yes. Now we don’t have a choice but to be a couple.” He whispered and kissed her.

She pulled back. “We are not a couple,” she argued.

“By the time we’re done here,” Draco whispered back, “we sure as hell will be, or we won’t the leave this cupboard till we are.”

“It’s a good thing I like you,” she replied

“Good thing I like you too,” Draco said and prevented any more talking by kissing her.

 

The End.

 


End file.
